


till we kiss i am no more than upright and unset

by nnegan13



Category: Speak Easy Speak Love - McKelle George
Genre: F/M, Flirting, I finished this and immediately needed more of them at Cornell, I pretend to know things about the 1920s, Kissing, and thus this was born
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-28
Updated: 2020-02-28
Packaged: 2021-02-28 02:40:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 952
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22936495
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nnegan13/pseuds/nnegan13
Summary: That sensation of falling—perhaps from a branch in a peach tree—welled up in her stomach as it continually did the longer she was around him. When she was alone and rational, she always assumed it would fade with time and acclimation, and was proved wrong at every turn.This hypothesis just needed more testing than most.
Relationships: Beatrice Clark/Benedick Scott
Kudos: 2





	till we kiss i am no more than upright and unset

**Author's Note:**

> the irony of me loving a couple that both wind up at cornell 
> 
> title from the poem "[most like an arch this marriage](https://www.poetryfoundation.org/poems/47013/most-like-an-arch-this-marriage)" by john ciardi

“Ben,” she said, and tugged him closer with the arm round his neck, her fingers wound in his hair. His mouth continued to tease along the neckline of her dress—high-collared like most of her wardrobe, as that was required for the female medical students—and his hands slipped up her thighs, fisted in the fabric of her dress. At the sound of his name, he scratched his teeth lightly against her skin and laughed.

This arrangement was decidedly against Cornell’s code of conduct, and yet she couldn’t bring herself to stop him, not once a hand stole up to her neck to draw her collar down and his mouth shifted to the hollow of her throat, teasing an awful noise out from between her lips and giving him reason once again to laugh. It was low in his chest and vibrated against the palm that moved to clutch between his shoulder blades.

It was a holiday weekend—two blissful days off to cap the weekend’s beginning and end for that dreadful man Columbus—and she was meant to be sitting on the 10:21am back to the city.

Instead, she found herself seated in Benedick’s lap, not that she was in any state of mind to complain or suggest they go to make their train.

She could picture the argument:

> _Might we be going? Hero’ll make us wish we were never born if we’re late._
> 
> _Bea…_
> 
> _Your father bought our tickets, I don’t want to waste any more of his money._
> 
> _He’ll put it on the tab of medical attention you owe him in the future. Not to mention he adores you. Just explain it all away with that wit of yours and we’ll be dandy._
> 
> _Ben—_

and then his mouth would slip back over hers and she’d find her steely will vanished in the morning breeze passing through the open window of her dorm room.

They were lucky campus had been all but deserted the night previous. Someone—her roommate, the Hall’s head girl, any of the rest of the floor’s residents with whom she’d become friendly—could easily walk in on them during an average day.

Beatrice supposed it was for the best it was a holiday, so long under Cornell’s strict visiting hours at the girls’ dorms wasn’t doing anything to help the wild abandon and restlessness that stirred up in her chest when he so much as looked her way. At least at Hey Nonny Nonny they’d have privacy, or Hero wouldn’t rat them out to some authority figure if she walked in on them. She’d probably start planning a massive party in celebration.

That might be worse than _any_ authority figures. 

Benedick’s fingers, heretofore hooked in the front of the neckline of her dress so as to provide him better access to her skin, slipped to the back of her collar, fumbled with the buttons holding it together. His mouth moved to her pulse point, teased at it with his teeth, then his tongue, and that sensation of falling—perhaps from a branch in a peach tree—welled up in her stomach as it continually did the longer she was around him. When she was alone and rational, she always assumed it would fade with time and acclimation, and was proved wrong at every turn.

This hypothesis just needed more testing than most.

Her eyelids fluttered, Benedick’s other hand met its pair and began to slowly undo the tiny buttons along the back of her dress, and she caught sight of the clock mounted on the wall opposite her desk at which they sat. Er, lounged. Fondled one another.

10:04am. Barely enough time to make it to the station and onto the train.

“Ben,” she said again, weakly. “We’re going to miss the train.”

“We’ll get a later train,” he mumbled, mouth brushing feather-light against the corner of her jaw. She held back a shudder, fingers still curled in his hair, though his stopped moving against her buttons. “I promise Hero won’t be mad.”

“Do you also promise not to tell her why we’ll be late?” That was why she wouldn’t be mad, and Beatrice preferred to relay her roguish ways to her cousin on her own and _not_ have Hero learn from someone else’s mouth. Benedick would be a much better storyteller, though, so she forgave him his uncommitted crime and only hoped her would let her listen in.

“Swear on all that’s holy in life.” He drew back, disappointing and probably sensible, and that falling feeling doubled up at the sight of his flushed cheeks and mussed hair. Those brown eyes sparkled and he smiled at her.

“Nothing is holy to you.”

“You are.”

She believed she couldn’t flush anymore than she already had, and he proved her wrong once again, leaning forward to press a gentle kiss to her mouth. His lips were red and warm and soft like his heart, and she wound her arms round his neck again to keep him close to her; that fancy work on her throat made her toes curl and her eyes roll, of course, but kissing him had steadily become something she found she could do forever. One hand, then a second, descended to her waist, palmed the back of her ribcage, and she fell and fell and fell.

When he drew back eons later and pressed his forehead to hers, close enough they still breathed the same air, he said, “So, a later train, then?”

She laughed, drunk on something she couldn’t find bottled at the speakeasy, and his hands squeezed her once. His face pressed into her neck, smiling. “Against my better judgement, we must.”

He found her mouth again. “How tragic.”

**Author's Note:**

> have u ever seen an adaptation so beautiful? 
> 
> literally read this book in one day and i'm obsessed with them 
> 
> i've never written fic for a book before, mostly tv shows or movies or for side characters that we don't get to see povs from bc I'm always worried i'll mess up the characters' voices but these two just got me really good. i seriously cannot believe no one else has written fic for them it's mind-blowing to me 
> 
> anyways hope u enjoyed this <3 mayhaps i'll be revisiting them for a more intellectual peek at their lives at cornell but i really couldn't help myself here


End file.
